Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling, except Graces Malfoy & Thomas Higgs, who are my own. I do not claim any ownership of the characters or settings contained within. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line
Author's notes: Big thank you to my beta Denarii for editing the chapter! He was also really sick so you all should love him for editing through it.
Special thanks to cocoatd, noone297, xXRoweenaJAugustineXx, superscarface83, Blue Luver5000, iamacola, Snakespur, Manoirmalfoys, and bekkivobekki for your reviews!
Chapter 42
It doesn't make sense, Thomas thought, staring down at the black letter. He wasn't the patriarch. There was no reason for him to be holding this letter. It had to be a mistake: an awful error on the Ministry's part. He wouldn't be the receiver of this letter. It was impossible. It was—
"Thomas."
Why is he staring at me like that? Thomas frowned at Draco's pitying gaze and looked around the room. Everyone was staring at him now. Why are they staring like this? Don't they know this is a mistake.
"Thomas, shall we go somewhere more private?" Draco asked, moving to place a guiding hand on his shoulder.
"N-no."
He watched with curious eyes as Draco nodded, but continued to watch him. Draco had no reason to be watching him like this. Why was he watching him like this? It crossed Thomas' mind that perhaps Draco was falling ill.
"Thomas." He turned to look at Graces who had taken a seat next to him. "Thomas," Graces whispered, running her fingers gently in his hair. "Come, darling. Let us excuse ourselves to read the letter."
"I-it's n-not m-m-mine t-t-to r-read."
Graces nodded and pulled her lips into her mouth for a moment, before gingerly pulling the letter out of his hands.
"Then let's go sort this out privately."
"A-are y-you alr-r-right?" Thomas asked, noticing the way Graces' voice was breaking.
"She's fine," Draco assured, standing and holding out his hand for the letter. "Come, Thomas. Let's go sort this out."
"Wait!" Thomas frowned as Graham started stumbling up to them, tripping over a few chairs as he hurried over. "Open it. Please, open it. Is it Arella? Is it my sister. Is she—"
"Graham, sit down," Draco hissed, moving so Thomas couldn't see.
"Fuck off, Malfoy!" Thomas steadied Draco as he stumbled back front Graham's blow. "It's not your sister that may be dead is it? Open that bloody letter."
"Graham, please," Graces simpered, moving forward between the two boys. "Please, just wait just—"
"No! Is it Arella? Just open it up!"
"Graham, please—"
"NO! I HAVE TO KNOW. I'M NOT GOING TO STAND DOWN HERE WAITING TO HEAR IF MY SISTER AND HER CHILDREN ARE OKAY! OPEN THE DAMN LETTER!"
"Graces, take Thomas to your room, I'll be there shortly," Draco commanded, pushing the letter over to his sister before turning back to the angry boy before him.
"Draco, wh—"
"Now!" Draco bellowed, drawing his wand as Graham looked to grab the letter.
"Come, Thomas," Graces choked.
Thomas knew something was wrong. Graces kept looking down at the letter and she wouldn't let go of his shoulder. And Draco and Graham looked like they were about to enter a duel. Something was wrong.
He and Graces had just passed the middle of the room when the Slytherin door opened again. Two more owls with blackened envelopes headed towards him. Thomas looked up at Graces to see her eyes widen at the site, and he flinched as her fingers began to dig deeper into his skin. She tried to take the letters, but the birds wouldn't allow her to. They ducked and dived around her hands, waiting for him to take them.
Thomas tried to stutter to the birds that it was a mistake, that he wasn't the patriarch, but he stopped at seeing the gold ink etched in the black paper.
Thomas Alexander Higgs, Patriarch of the Higgs clan
Slowly he reached out to take the letters. His letters. His letters from the ministry. His black letters from the ministry. He knew this all was making sense somewhere in his brain, but he couldn't piece it all together.
"G-g-graces?"
Five more owls were now approaching, quickly followed by two more, then three. Thomas began backing away from all the talons pushing forth envelopes to him. More and more owls entered. They were fighting amongst one another to get to him. He gasped as he felt a flutter of wings against the back of his head, arms, hands, face. The owls were no longer trying to hand him the letters, they were bombarding him with them. Flinging them down upon him like rain on the Scottish hills. He couldn't even see around him. All he could see was feathers. Feathers and black.
Then something new was coming into the mix. Crows. A murder of crows had descended into the common room. Thomas tried to figure out what was happening, but all he could hear were screams. The whole common room was screaming. Horrified screams filled the air and he couldn't see anything that was happening.
"SHUT THE DAMN DOOR!"
Graces. Graces continued to scream for the door to be shut. At first she sounded so far away, but then there was flashes of green, and one by one the treacherous birds around him were falling. Thomas breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Graces and Draco killing each bird, but the screaming and crying from around the room was still overwhelming. Thomas drew his wand. Was there a danger? Was an enemy in the room? He looked around and stilled.
Pictures. All around him mixed with the letters from the ministry were pictures. Moving pictures of his family being killed. The crows. The crows were bringing them.
Thomas spun around in place to look at the ones near him: Killisus being cornered in her room by masked men pointing their wands at her before a flash of green came; little Teegan running up the stairs, another masked figure following with a dagger; Arthur shielding his wife and holding his wand out; his mother—
"Don't look," Graces cried, taking his head and hiding it in her bosom. "Don't look. Don't look."
Thomas tried to move away, he could feel the crinkling of paper under his feet as he tried to escape Graces' grasp. He needed to see; he needed to understand.
"G-graces, wh-what. I'm n-not the h-heir. I'm n-not th-the heir."
"Oh, Thomas," Graces choked. "I'm so sorry."
Thomas couldn't breathe. Something inside him was breaking. He hurt. His chest was sinking into him. Something was wrong. He couldn't breathe. His chest. He felt his knees begin to shake, and distantly heard Graces calling for her brother to help her, and then there was no more common room, no more flutter of wings, no more letters, pictures, masked figures, no more screaming and crying. There was just nothing. Blissful nothing.
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Thomas looked so small lying in her bed. Graces was aware that he wasn't any longer, that the boy underneath her soft sheets was now taller than her, but at this moment, in her heart and mind, he was just a boy. She gently brushed her knuckle over his cheek, stifling a sob as she noticed the beginnings of a strong contour in his jaw. In less than a year he would probably look more like a man, but he wasn't one yet.
"Are you finished yet?" she asked hollowly, still staring down at Thomas' sleeping form.
"No." Graces turned to her brother. Draco was sitting at her desk going through each black letter; a long parcel next to him with a list of all living Higgs members. For hours she had heard the steady beat of Draco's quill crossing out names, to the point where she didn't even flinch when a new name was crossed out.
"How many more letters?"
"A lot."
"Draco," Graces pressed.
"What do you want me to say, Graces!" Draco snapped, slamming his quill down. "There's too many to count. It looks like they're all dead. Thomas looks to be the only survivor." Draco grabbed to fistfulls of letters and shook them angrily. "I am going as fast as possible, but there are too many! I've been at this for hours!"
"Then let me do some," Graces suggested, moving away from the bed and to the desk.
"No." Graces glared at her brother as he covered the letters from her. "You take care of Thomas and I will finish the letters."
"You're tired and-"
"Take care of Thomas," Draco repeated evenly. "We all have our duties and you would do better to care for him than read through these."
Graces wanted to argue, but she was too tired. After Thomas had passed out from sheer shock she and Draco had taken over. She and Blaise carried Thomas to her room and, after checking that he was okay, slipped him a sleeping potion so he would not wake until she and Draco had figured out what to tell him. Draco had taken to getting all the envelopes and pictures and, most unfortunately, dueling Graham when the older boy had tried to rip each letter open to find out if his sister was still living.
It wasn't that Graces and Draco didn't understand what kind of pain the waiting was putting him through. They understood all too well, but they couldn't allow for him to rip through each letter desperately to find Arella's name. The other people that had died deserved more than that. Their letters deserved to be opened with the same amount of mournfulness and care.
Three hours later Graham had his answer to whether his sister and her children were alive and it was the answer he had feared the most: they weren't. Graces had delivered the news, not wanting Draco to stop in his work of opening letters and needing to feel useful in some way besides ensuring that Thomas was taken care of. Not to mention Draco and Graham had dueled over the letters, so his presence probably was not going to be welcomed.
She had thought she was ready for such a responsibility. She could be comforting to Graham in his darkest hour, but the moment she had descended the stairs to see the tall boy had been waiting, she realized she wasn't. Graham had not even allowed her to get a single word out before his face twisted and he left to mourn privately. Graces hadn't run after him. There were no comforts that could be had in a time like this.
"What are you doing?" Draco asked, when he saw her pulling two vials from her bag.
"I don't want him waking up," Graces whispered hollowly, the numbness in her taking over even her speech. "He should have a few more hours of peace."
She was well aware of her brother's eyes on her as she took the calming drought and sleeping potion and brought them to Thomas's lips and gently rubbed his throat to ensure he swallowed it, but she ignored his stare. She knew what was best for Thomas. He couldn't handle this. If he was awake right then he would go mad: mad from knowing that his family had been slaughtered and mad with anticipation as Draco finished taking a count of who was alive and who was dead. If he were awake he would cling to another family member's name after each letter, hoping that the person he was thinking of was still alive. And Draco would have to demolish that hope with each tear of paper. He just needed to sleep. It was better that he wasn't awake for this part.
Maybe it would be best if he never woke up. I doubt what lies ahead for him is worth living for.
"Graces?" Draco called, moving towards her as she pressed her hand to her lips to keep from getting sick.
"I'm fine. I'm fine," she promised, moving the covers over and climbing into bed beside Thomas. "I just need to rest."
Draco nodded and his eyes shifted to the vials she had just given Thomas.
"Absolutely not."
"I didn't say anything," Draco protested.
"I know what you are thinking and the answer is no." Graces possessively pulled Thomas closer to her so that he was curled up in her arms. She was determined to be the strong one for once. Someone was always taking care of her and she wasn't going to allow that now. She was going to take care of Thomas. He was her baby now and she refused to be weak when he needed someone strong.
"Graces, pl—"
"Finish the letters, Draco," Graces whispered, closing her eyes and telling herself not to cry. "I have Thomas. Finish the letters."
Somewhere between holding Thomas and the rhythmic sounds of Draco opening a letter and crossing of a name Graces drifted off into sleep. She had no idea how long she had been out, but by the time Draco woke her the whole her the whole castle was silent. She waited for Draco to say something, but the blonde just sat beside her holding the long parcel with miles of names crossed out.
"Draco?"
"They're all dead," he whispered, leaning his head down and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Women, children, elderly, everyone. Dead. As far as I can tell there are only two that we didn't receive letters for: a squib great aunt, and you know it takes longer to be notified of the death of a squib that lives in the muggle world, and his cousin Titus's newborn son Octavian."
"Then they're not all dead. He has an aunt and baby c—"
"What are the odds, Graces?" Draco cut in, his voice heavy with emotion. "Why would the Dark Lord leave him with a squib great aunt and a baby? The ministry owls must have gotten lost or they have not identified or found the bodies. Besides, if the child was alive someone from the Ministry would have come and given him custody."
"The Ministry is most likely overwhelmed," Graces argued, moving so she could sit up in bed, but still hold Thomas. "The child could very well be alive. They just need to sort out who is to have custody, see what the wills say."
"I wouldn't get your hopes up," Draco sighed, burying his face in his palms.
Graces reached to place a hand on her brother, but before she could the dorm door opened and Severus Snape was walking in.
There was an ear-ringing silence as the twins stared at their potions professor. It was the dead of night and now he had come, hours after he was needed. He was never there. Not for them at least. He was always locked up in his office or away doing work for the Dark Lord.
"You knew," Graces whispered, pulling Thomas closer to her. Hatred like a hot iron began to tear her up from the inside."You knew and you did nothing."
She bared her teeth to keep it all in. She wanted to hate him. She wanted to feel every ounce of the hatred she had for him. It was all bubbling up to the surface, she could feel it blazing under her skin. She wanted to scream her hatred for him, scream that she would have rather been dead then be alive because of him.
"It was inevitable," Snape declared slowly. "Neutrality will no longer be tolerated by our Lord, and the Higgs clan was the army protecting the idea of it."
"There were children!" Graces wailed, the phrase alone breaking her chest in. "There was no reason to hurt children. They can't even—"
"It was our Lord's wish. A message needed to be sent."
"We won't let you hurt Thomas," Draco said, moving between the bed and Snape. "If you're here to further the message, you'll have to go through me."
"You Malfoys and your dramatics," Snape sneered. "If Thomas Higgs was meant to killed he would have been killed."
"So he's safe?" Draco questioned slowly. "No harm is going to come to him?"
"That depends."
"On what?"
"On you two," Snape declared, folding his hands together. "The Dark Lord has agreed to not completely wipe the Higgs clan out if Thomas will bow down to him."
"Take the mark?" Graces whispered horrified. "He's a third year. He's thirteen."
"Do you not wish him to join our Lord's following?" Snape asked his voice leading Graces to believe he was questioning her loyalty.
"She's not saying that," Draco cut in. "She's saying he is too young."
"He is not too young to declare loyalty and as the Patriarch it is his duty," Snape lectured, now moving over to the large pile of black envelopes. "Two family members were spared. A great aunt and a child. Should Thomas not bow down both will be killed along with him. This decision should be very easy for Mr. Higgs."
"His whole family was just slaughtered," Graces murmured, looking down at the boy in her arms. "Do you realize how many loved ones were killed by our lord. Thomas had fourteen brothers and sisters. His father was one out of ten and each of his father's siblings had at least nine children. Thomas' older brother had seven kids already. And the Dark Lord expects him to bow down after the genocide of his family?"
"You have a week to convince him to do so," Snape said heartlessly. "Friday evening I shall take Mr. Higgs to our Lord. I sincerely hope that you two can get him to put aside his anger and do what is best for what is left of his family."
"Wait," Graces called, before Snape left the room. "Thomas was never raised to be a patriarch. He has a lot to do before Friday: funeral arrangements, notifying other family members, and I'm sure he will need to figure out what to do with the child he has acquired." Snape waited for Graces to continue. "I-I think it best for him and the Dark Lord if you allow me and Draco to have the time off from school to help him. He can't do it alone and we both have been raised to handle such situations."
Graces held her breath as Snape seemed to be going over everything she just said. She wondered if he would say no just out of his inability to be compassionate. It wouldn't be a surprise if he allowed Thomas to struggle with his new title and burying his family, after all he hadn't even warned him of what was to come or been here when the owls and crows came, but to Graces and Draco's relief Snape nodded in agreement.
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Nobody ever really prepares you for death. It's something that you just have to find out about through life. Thomas had known what the loss of a loved one was. It was an overpowering ache in your chest, waves of grief that would crash upon you, and what always seemed like endless tears. There wasn't a true way to describe it. You can only list the reactions to it. Loss was something that you had to experience to know. He had had great aunts die, grandparents die, and even a few cousins here and there, but he never had anything like this. This was a whole new kind of loss, a whole new kind of hurt.
He nuzzled in closer to Graces' sleeping form. He didn't want to get up and face this. He didn't think he could face this. He saw the pictures, the letters, the birds, the way everyone was staring at him last night. He hadn't been able to truly allow himself to comprehend then, but now… now he did. His family was gone.
A soft whimper escaped his lips and he felt an arm come around him from behind. Draco. Draco was in the bed sleeping as well. He was sandwiched between both twins as they held him. Thomas held his breath to keep from stirring them more. He listened to their soft breathing and closed his eyes as their breath stirred the hair on his head. Thomas tried to remember if his mother's breath ever did that when he snuck into her and his father's bed. It had been so long since he had done such a thing. He racked his memory, trying vainly to remember such a simple detail only to find he couldn't.
The back of his throat began to ache and he shifted even more into Graces. He wanted to be held tighter. He felt like if he was squeezed closer to her that maybe this feeling in his chest would become more bearable. His mother used to hold him like that when his brothers would hurt his feelings or he became embarrassed by his speech. She would always hold him close to her so tightly he could hear her heart beating in her chest. He could hear Graces' heart thumping rhythmically in her chest now.
He could hear Graces', but he would never hear his mother's heart beat again, because her heart no longer beat. His brothers would never become annoyed with him and his mother would never hold him. They were all gone.
And all of the sudden the pain he was feeling was nothing compared to the torment he was feeling now.
"Thomas!" Graces gasped, waking up from his cries. "Oh darling, it's okay."
He knew that he must have been hurting Graces. His nails were digging into her back and his arms were crushing her small frame, but he couldn't stop. Something was tearing him from the inside out. Memories of his family members flashed before his eyes: Terrence's wedding, his brothers kicking the tar out of a neighbor boy for making fun of him, his sister tickling him, his nephews being born, his niece giggling as he ran her through the ash, his father bragging about his position on the Quidditch team. It hurt so much. It all just hurt so, so much.
Thomas screamed out his agony until his breath gave out, leaving him with only silent wails. They were all gone. He was left with flashes of smiles and laughter that drifted in his head but would never be seen. They were gone, stolen. Someone took them from him. They took their lives, their futures, their possibilities. They murdered his family. His reason for living.
Everything felt so far away. He could feel Draco pounding a hand on his back to get him to take a breath. Graces was crying and murmuring words that he didn't care about, but he didn't feel like he was there. He didn't really want to be there. Each shuddering breath he took tore him from the inside out. He just wanted to slip away from this world. He wanted his mother. He wanted to be held by his mother, not Graces. He wanted his mother.
"I know you do, sweetie," Graces hiccuped. "I know. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
Thomas scrambled to get away. He couldn't breathe anymore. He felt as though the twins were suffocating him. Something was around his neck and his skin was tingling with heat. He just needed them to stop touching him, stop talking to him, just—
"G-GET AW-WAY F-FROM ME!"
Graces bit her lip as Thomas ripped himself away from her and Draco and fell to the floor, clutching his chest while he sobbed on his knees. This was the awakening that she had wanted to postpone.
"Th-they're all d-d-dead," Thomas moaned, his forehead falling to the floor as he wailed his sorrows into the ground like a dying animal.
"Not all," Draco said quietly. "Thomas, they're not all dead."
Draco moved to be on the floor and, though Thomas protested, wrapped his arms around his chest from behind. Thomas still had full mobility of his arms, and was trying to move Draco's forearms off his chest, but Draco held tighter.
"You need to get up, Thomas. People are counting on you now. You have—"
"Draco! Not now!"
Draco looked up at her for a moment and Graces shook her head in disapproval.
"You have responsibilities now, Thomas," Draco continued definitely. "Your cousin's newborn son Octavian still lives and so does your great aunt Alethea."
"Draco! These things can wait. He—"
"These things cannot wait," Draco pressed, gritting his teeth and glaring at his sister. "He needs to notify family members, begin funeral arrangements, get a solicitor so he can maintain custody of Octavian, enlist the boy as his heir officially, go through the land he now owns, combine all the new vaults he has acquired, decide what businesses to keep and sell. There is an endless list of things he needs to do and he needs to begin it."
"Get away from him," Graces spat, pushing her brother and jerking Thomas towards her. "This is going to be blasted all through the papers. He doesn't need to inform anyone but the squib. He can spend his morning crying in bed. His world has been destroyed and you're talking of duties."
Draco opened his mouth to argue, but stopped himself at seeing his sister's bared teeth.
"Thomas gets the morning and that is final. Everything else can be discussed later, one thing at a time," Graces added cryptically, letting Draco know that discussions of Thomas' loyalties with the Dark Lord would not be brought up today. Draco nodded grudgingly and said nothing more as his sister picked the sobbing boy off the floor and placed him back in her bed where she continued to hold and stroke his hair. She no longer bothered to try to find words of comfort for a situation that had none.
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For the second day Neville watched Hermione through breakfast. He had never given thought to what the girl had to go through on a daily basis. He imagined this was not the first time Hermione had been forced to bear such cruelty because of someone's ignorance, and, judging by the way she was acting, it didn't even affect her. It wasn't right. No one should be used to that kind of prejudice. Neville loved Graces, it was impossible for him to shut those affections off, but he hated her beliefs and actions.
"Hermione?"
"Yes?" Hermione asked surprised, clearly in shock that Neville had decided to speak to her again after him finding out she had talked to Graces.
"May I sit with you?"
Hermione nodded her head and quickly moved her books off the table. It was Sunday so there wasn't really anyone else around them. It appeared that most of Gryffindor house was sleeping, and the Quidditch team had decided to take advantage of the nice weather and practice. Neville sat awkwardly and tried to think about how to talk to the girl in front of him.
"Neville, I-I just, well, I wanted you to know how sorry I am," Hermione started, pulling a piece of her hair around her finger nervously. "I should never have told Malfoy about your feelings and I know that now. I just wanted to protect you and—anyways, I'm just so sorry."
Neville just nodded and picked at a dent in the table. It was hard trying to find the words to talk about Graces when he couldn't tell Hermione everything.
"I-I don't want you to think I'm shallow," Neville began quietly. "I don't like Graces because she's a pretty witch."
Neville looked up shyly to see Hermione's eyes shift in a way that let Neville know that was indeed how she felt about the situation, but she sat patiently for him to expand on this proclamation.
"I-I know she isn't the nicest of girls. She-she has a pretty mean and nasty streak to her. I don't agree with her beliefs about blood status and-and her cruelty to others is…" Neville searched his mind for a word that would fit his feelings. "Sickening."
"But she has other qualities, good qualities in my opinion. It's just unfortunate she was raised with such hateful ignorance."
"What are her good qualities?" Hermione asked, a slight frown between her brows but sincere curiosity showing in her eyes.
Neville shrugged and once again became fascinated with the dent in the table.
"Well," he began clearing his throat and mustering up some Gryffindor courage. "She's really smart, kind of like you. She can go on for hours about a subject she finds interesting which admittedly could potentially be annoying, but well I-I like it when she goes on her little tangents because her eyes light up and she moves her hands really enthusiastically and, well, she's no longer that cold, pinched-lipped girl we see in the halls."
Hermione didn't seem at all impressed by such a detail so Neville continued, wanting badly for his friend to understand.
"And she tutors younger years, which I think is nice. She's patient and doesn't mind finding different ways to explain things to me when I don't understand a subject. And she loves chocolate," Neville laughed thinking of Graces' ridiculous sweet tooth. "I mean she really loves chocolate. If you pay attention to her she always sneaks a sweet in her mouth after History of Magic. It's like clockwork. She leaves the classroom, digs in her bag, and pops a sweet in her mouth. It-it's just so endearing. I don't know. It's silly, but I love that she does that."
"And I know you'll never see this side to her, but she is truly a kind and generous person. Maybe not to us, but I've seen the way she interacts with others. She cares about people deeply and does her best to protect those around her. In the halls she's always snapping her fingers at first years to behave, but-but she also is holding them in corners when they're homesick. And-and multiple times when she's been tutoring me I've caught her writing letters to their parents telling them how they are doing."
"She's just a very different person in private and once in a while she lets me see that person...I'm not saying you're wrong to dislike her. There are plenty of reasons for you to dislike her. And trust me there are days I wish I didn't feel the way I did about her, but I can't help it. I've seen those things about her and now..."
"Okay," Hermione clipped.
"That's it, just okay?" Neville pressed, knowing okay said like that didn't mean anything good.
"I don't know what you want me to say. I certainly don't approve and you obviously have already made up your mind, so what am I supposed to say?"
"I don't need you to approve, Hermione," Neville said quietly. "I need you to respect my feelings and not intrude on my privacy. I know she and her brother both have done wrong by you. I don't expect you to ever like her, but—"
"So how she treats people doesn't matter to you?" Hermione surmised angrily.
"No. No, of course it does. I hate how she treats people. But Hermione, she doesn't know better. She was raised by Lucius Malfoy. What can you expect? I'm-I'm not saying it's an excuse, but it's—"
"She is not a good person, Neville," Hermione stressed, leaning forward. "I'm sure you're right that she does have good qualities, but we are not the kind of people she is going to give those good qualities to. She's dangerous to us, Neville."
"I'll make sure to keep that in mind…"
Neville hated the way Hermione was staring at him: like she sympathized and was infuriated with him all at once. He wanted for them to be friends again. He didn't want them to be so distant, but at the same time he wasn't willing to fold on what he was feeling for Graces. If you love someone you shouldn't be ashamed of it. He wasn't ashamed to love Graces. He knew her, Hermione didn't.
They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence, neither of them able to think of a way beyond this. Neville looked over at the bare Slytherin table and frowned at how no one had come down for breakfast. The owls arrived with the post and at least twenty left with the papers, letters and packages still in talons. Neville frowned but took his own paper, wondering if there was another holiday or something he didn't know of. Then as he took his own paper in hand he saw it.
"Higgs Clan Slaughtered in the Night"